


growing pains.

by thychesters



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is tired, Brothers Being Brothers (by not talking to one another), Dick is Batman, Gen, Tim has a Broken Arm and Anxiety, and dick almost had an aneurysm, he was a sk8ter boi he said see ya l8ter croc, tim is robin, tim stepped in so croc wouldn't rip dick's head off and now he thinks he's in trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thychesters/pseuds/thychesters
Summary: After a reckless stunt during what had started as an easy night of patrol, Tim can't help the anxious feeling that maybe, just maybe, his Robin days are slowly coming to an end.It doesn't help Dick's maybe said all of two words to him on the way back to Manor, either.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 98





	growing pains.

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i don't know timelines and continuity and neither does dc, so at this point both of us just make up our own
> 
> this was going to be a simply standalone thing for a tumblr prompt, but then it grew some more; some lines are lifted directly from the [scars prompt for reverb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981993/chapters/55012411) because my brain said 'remember that idea you wanted to explore from march' and i said 'no' and it said 'sick, neither do i'

Dick has been Batman for a month and he hates everything about it.

Tim’s been Robin for two years now and is having the absolute time of his life.

Or, he was up until fifteen minutes ago.

He’s remained silent in the Batmobile ever since the soft _Dick?_ he ventured garnered no response aside from the tightening of Dick’s jaw and the creak of leather against the steering wheel. Tim can see the way he chances a quick glance at him out of the corner of his eye as they pass through the Bowery. Dick can obviously see the way he holds his arm in a manner he tries to pass off as casual, or the way he favored one side on the way back to the car and tried to pass it off as nothing.

(Dick can remember the joy that came with Robin, the sense of freedom, of doing something, but he also remembers the lows, all the pain and sacrifice that came with it.)

Tim still hasn’t spoken to him. Dick looks like he’s restraining the urge to slam his fist into the steering wheel and yell. His body has to hurt, ache in ways he didn’t even know it could, and he probably wants nothing more than to do away with this damn suit.

He was never big on the suit to begin with. The mantle isn’t his, but there’s no Bruce anymore and that… and that hurts too. They just skirt the subject sometimes, if they can help it. If it takes a toll on Tim, he can only imagine the one it does on Dick.

Tim shifts and holds back a grimace as pain laces up his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he finally ventures somewhere around Broad Street and Twelfth, but Dick doesn’t so much as twitch, gaze fixed on the road before them as they head into the outskirts of the city.

 _It wasn’t all that bad_ , he wants to argue. No, throwing himself headlong into the fray wasn’t his best plan of attack—as if it ever is, but that’s never stopped _any_ of them before—but Batman had needed back-up against Croc and it wasn’t like Robin had had a ton of options. The way he sees it, the pain he’s pretty sure is a hairline fracture in his ulna is the better alternative seeing as the other was Batman getting his head cleaved off his body in the sewers.

He can’t imagine Dick feels the same way. Rather than stare at his brother and wait for _something_ , Tim turns away from him to let his head loll back on the seat and elects to look out the window for the remainder of the ride back to the Cave.

Tim can feel Dick glancing his way again. Somehow that hurts worse than his arm.

\-- --

Dick brakes harder than usual as the Batmobile roars into the Cave, and he seems at least mildly apologetic when Tim winces at the jerk in momentum.

“Tim,” he starts, body sagging just so in the seat as he drops his hands from the wheel. For a moment, Tim considers lingering to see what he has to say, if they’re both going to hash it out in the front seat of the Batmobile, but then glances up to find they have an audience. Alfred and Barbara watch from one of the tiers above, the latter’s presence surprising him for a moment because he can’t remember the last time he saw her here.

“We should probably get out before they start asking questions,” Tim murmurs as Dick works his jaw, and watches him glance between him and the two above them. A second passes before Dick nods.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, but Tim’s already removing himself from the Batmobile and trying to avoid any questioning or judgmental gazes as he peels off his mask.

“Hey,” he says as he makes it up the stairs before trailing behind Alfred as he ushers him toward the med bay. He doesn’t meet Alfred with much resistance as he assists him in removing the cape and outer layers of his suit, mindful of his arm as they maneuver it from the glove and gauntlet. Barbara’s watching Dick, which means Tim can avoid dealing with either one of them for the time being. The silent treatment was enough as it is and the last thing he wants is Babs being involved too, even if she can likely talk some sense into him.

Was Tim throwing himself at Croc stupid? Well, yeah, but Dick was about to lose his head, and it’s not like they haven’t done stupid things before—or stupider. He dumps some more body armor on the floor before he plops himself down on the bed; he sets to work peeling off his boots to leave in a heap on the floor with the rest of his suit.

“That fall could have put you out of commission for a while there, Robin,” Barbara says, and he glances up to see her watching him with her glasses slid down her nose, like a librarian come to shush him for being too loud.

Of course she had access to that, somehow. Must have been something in Batman’s cowl. He smiles back at her. “That’s okay, Batman’s big head broke it,” he says, hissing when Alfred goes to move his arm.

“My apologies, Master Tim,” he murmurs, and Tim only nods distractedly, thinking about the bruises that are going to spread along his forearm and bicep. Nothing like battle scars, he thinks.

“‘Sokay,” he says, slurring words together much to Alfred’s chagrin. He flexes the fingers of his right hand and winces as the bruise blossoming on his bicep is prodded. As he takes the acetaminophen Alfred offers and chases them with the water bottle passed next, his eyes wander back to Barbara and Dick, who are having one of those silent conversations in which she stares at him and he avoids her gaze.

Before she can make eye contact with him, Tim takes the opportunity to down the rest of his water and launch into the story of their latest run-in with Croc with Alfred, distracting him both from thinking about whether or not Dick’s going to shelf his Robin cape and how much his arm hurts as Alfred examines it.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” he says in hushed tones, to which Alfred glances up at him from under his brow and hums. “I mean okay, yeah, it didn’t really go as planned, but I figured it could have been a lot worse, y’know? No one got eaten this time.”

The joke falls flat. His side still aches from where he’d been bodily thrown into Dick, who’d rolled with the blow as Croc meant to follow and put them through a wall. Even behind the cowl Tim could have sensed the look in his eyes; the set to his jaw as he’d relinquished his hold on Robin with a look that said _we’ll talk about this later_.

Yes, he’d disobeyed an order to fall back, but what was he supposed to do? Forget the Batman vs. Robin hierarchy—Tim wasn’t about to watch his older brother get his head ripped off because they’d infringed upon Croc’s territory.

“I mean, not for lack of trying, but I think I’ve maxed out my quota for sewer exploration for the next twenty years.”

“A delightful anecdote, thank you.”

He hears Dick ask Barbara about Damian, the first thing he’s said since they got back to the Cave. The taste on the back of Tim’s tongue sours.

“Of course,” he mutters.

“He doesn’t mean it like that,” Alfred murmurs in kind, and Tim holds back a derisive snort. “You shouldn’t think so hard on a mere inquiry—despite your and Master Damian’s… reservations about one another.”

“If _that’s_ what you want to call it,” he says, almost smiling as Alfred simply shakes his head. In that second Dick turns to look at him, so he opts to focus on working his arm into a brace and nodding when it’s deemed satisfactory. He tries not to think about how he’s going to need to use it for the next few weeks while Robin is benched.

Tim flexes his fingers and misses whatever exchange Alfred and Barbara have before she leads Dick back into the Manor. The backs of his eyes burn, and he almost misses Alfred telling him he ought to be set for the time being, off to a quick shower with him, if he can manage, and then to bed and be sure to keep that arm elevated and him aware of any discomfort.

“He’s going to fire me,” he says, staring down at his arm. Something in his chest constricts and he squeezes his eyes shut, missing whatever look Alfred gives him as he moves to stand beside him again. “He’s going to fire me, I know it.”

“I assure you he is going to do nothing of the sort, Master Tim.” Alfred’s voice is placating, just as it always is during particularly rough nights. Tim shakes his head and swallows.

“No, you—you didn’t see him. The entire way back, his face. He was just… I screwed up and he’s mad and… I don’t think he wants me as Robin anymore. Or maybe he doesn’t want me going out with him, I don’t know. He was in trouble and I wasn’t going to just stand there and _watch_.”

Something tightens in his chest and it hurts. It feels like his ribs are curling inwards.

Alfred’s hands curl over his shoulders.

“Look at me. I need you to take a breath,” he says, and Tim only does because he doesn’t feel like staring at his arm anymore. His lungs hurt. His side hurts. “I can assure you tonight, like any night before, you are not being relieved of your duties. While I cannot attest to whatever altercation there was between you and Master Richard—or lack thereof—upon your return, I firmly believe this would _not_ be the end of your partnership.”

Tim stares back at him, free hand picking at the end of his brace.

“Disagreements are not uncommon. Your brother being concerned for your well-being or being upset _because_ you put it in jeopardy does not imply he’s done with you entirely,” Alfred continues, and Tim watches him in silence for a moment. What he doesn’t say is that this feels like something he probably went through with Stephanie, too, and she got to keep her mantle because Barbara pushed back.

He knows how much Dick doesn’t want to be Batman. He knows the toll it takes on him and the weight it carries. It isn’t his fault, but that doesn’t mean Tim can’t wish it didn’t throw such a wrench into their dynamic.

“Right,” Tim finally says after a minute, opting to do his utmost and hope the one word settles enough between them since he has little interest in airing all of his demons to Alfred. It isn’t fair to him anyway, and he’s found he much prefers the self-induced torment that comes with lying awake at four in the morning and mulling over every shortcoming and mistake he’s made over the past few years.

Alfred’s gaze softens as he raises his head, and Tim lets out a breath before he nods.

“Thanks, Alfred,” he murmurs, getting back to his feet as he glances back at the pile of armor and kevlar on the floor. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Never mind that,” he says, and he can’t help but think of double meanings. “Now, off to bed with you.”

Tim opens his mouth before pausing and closing it again. Alfred watches him, waiting patiently, as always, and is clearly caught off guard when Tim offers him a hug with his good arm, though his recovery is smooth.

“Night, Alfred.”

He gives his hair a good one-handed scrub in the shower after he makes his way back up into the manor, though not without noting that he hasn’t spotted Dick yet, who’s probably been dragged off by Barbara to go lick his own proverbial wounds. He jerks the shower handle a little harder than he means to. Even if he can’t spot any bruises, his chest is still tight as he crawls into bed, ignoring the thin sliver of pre-dawn light peeking through the crack left in the curtains. Finding a position to keep both his arm propped up and the ice pack he’d dragged from the med bay from slipping is awkward, but eventually he manages to sequester himself into the array of pillows.

Tim drags the covers up to his chin, opting to burrow in as best he can before he squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see anything. The next breath he lets out stutters, and Tim curls into his covers and tries to sleep, tries not to think.

In the late morning, almost afternoon, Dick greets him in the kitchen with the spread of pancakes and bacon left courtesy of Alfred. At first their interaction is stilted, to say the least, and Tim’s fingers curl into his brace as Dick pour two mugs of coffee. He watches in silence for a moment, and then moves as Dick gestures for him to join him at the island.

“So,” Dick starts as he slides a mug over, and Tim’s shoulders tighten in apprehension as it lingers too long between them. His brother is almost smiling, though, as he murmurs a soft _thanks_. “You really think my head’s that fat?”

He relinquishes his mug in favor of reaching for a plate with his good hand. Tim can recognize an olive branch when he’s all but being smacked in the face with it. He’ll have to ask Babs what she said to him, he thinks as he snags a strip of bacon.

“Nah—I said big, not fat.” Dick raises an eyebrow at him as he takes a bite. “ _Huge_ difference.”

He huffs into the rim of his mug, but at least it doesn’t sound annoyed. “Good to know.”

Breakfast is peaceful, all things considered, though Tim gives Dick a mock-affronted look when he says he’ll have to put off challenging him to arm wrestling competitions for the next little while. He does look a tad remorseful though, and there’s still a giant elephant staring them down from the corner of the room.

“I could still beat you,” Tim offers, to which Dick smiles, just a little. As he swallows his bite the pancakes settle in his stomach like lead.

\-- --

Dick doesn’t fire him.

At least not right away.


End file.
